


It's Only Water It's Only Fire It's Only (love It's Only Slaughter We're Only Liars, It's Only Blood)

by Iamasortofvillain



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27263122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamasortofvillain/pseuds/Iamasortofvillain
Summary: Dani could never keep the beast inside forever, but she fought with claws and jaws and fire until it was too much.OR:Small moments of hurt and slaughter and pain, but also of love and of kisses and of a life well spent
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie
Comments: 10
Kudos: 78





	It's Only Water It's Only Fire It's Only (love It's Only Slaughter We're Only Liars, It's Only Blood)

**Author's Note:**

> "I heard the news today  
> That you weren't mine to save  
> I hope that you're comfortable  
> In the quiet plastic grave"
> 
> \- ODESZA "It's Only" (feat. Zyra)

It's like a ceremonial fight you lose and lose and lose, rolling small and bloodied, fierce but nothing in comparison to the lethal force that is the monster in your chest.

She is deadly and dangerous and final and no amount of quiet confirmation of soft hands or beautiful eyes can ever fight and win.

This is the force that refused death. The force that created a gravity of its own. The force, not even murderous knights or borders or fences could keep away. She's the dragon guarding your tower. Untouched and forgotten and angry and you wonder where your own spirit will go, once she's victorious.

"Do it," you say it like a command and like a prayer and like a plea because you're tired and Jamie has a worried look on her face and you want (you need) it to be over and done.

The monster presses harder (closer closer). Her claws are deep in you and she draws precise thin lines of blood and you fist your hands and expect the worst.

"Do it. Come on. Do it".

But the monster, like so many others (like your mother and like Eddie and nothing like Jamie) underestimates you so she sneers and burns and hates but she cannot touch you.

"Fuck you," you tell her and she withdraws.

Jamie has her arms around you and your whole left arm hurts, up into your chest, and it's the kind of ache that is translated with needles into your skin and Jamie is beautiful she's so beautiful she's so beautiful.

//

She's holding a knife to your throat and you can feel the satisfaction in her. It's sick and lost and dark and she doesn't remember what is it she's searching for, but the blade is cutting deep deep deeper into your flesh until it draws blood.

You press yourself roughly against Jamie's body and it feels good. The monster inside you wants to consume your world so you want to consume Jamie in another way, in a gentle loving needy sort of way.

The monster wants you cut open and drowned, she wants you angry and obedient and soft, but you are not soft and you want Jamie to push her fingers inside your tender parts and you want to kiss her sharp jaw and you want to kiss her soft mouth and you want to be lost enough in her to forget the hateful presence.

You spend days, weeks, months even, speaking of war. You prepare for it. You learn it. The monster is angry and resentful and you are guarded and you find it easy to keep her at bay.

Jamie has her rough hands in your palm and at the end of a long and exhausting day, she takes off her clothes and she guides you to the tub and she washes your hair with your eyes shut tight.

The monster burns through your palms and it hurts but she is not the one in control.

//

Jamie has scars of her own. Something burned her skin a long time ago and you imagine it must have hurt. You trace her skin with adoring fingers and you watch her crumble to your touch.

Jamie is a radiant golden soul, a sun in your dark sky and she's beautiful and shining and you run your hands from her shoulders to her hips like she's something holy (you're something damned) and you don't speak about your scars but when she spreads you on your bed and scouts your body, eyes blurred and mouth hot, you know she understands.

Jamie is gentle. Very very gentle. She kisses you with soft lips that taste like smoke and herbs. She touches you slow and deep and you are terrified and hesitant and you don't know how to kiss her back with the beast in your chest, but Jamie is stubborn and when you do kiss back, it's overwhelming.

Jamie is strong. When you're hurting and when you're sad and when you are lonely. She is a brave and beautiful presence that reminds you to breathe, to let it go, to stop thinking.  
You trust her and she kisses you slowly and you have never felt like this before.

//

Jamie's hands nourish and create, the buds and the flowers springing to life under her fingers. You will never get tired of watching her, back turned to you, busy with something.

Your lips split into a smile.

She is very real and her shakey breath in your mouth is heaven and her nose grazing against you is something like sweet hell.

(It hurts. Everything hurts and maybe you're about to die, but you are surviving for a life of this. Soft kisses and stolen glances and warm hugs in the middle of the night).

(The two of you deserve a good life, more than just surviving and you are not children anymore, but you have an entire universe weighing you down).

"I love you." You tell her quietly, often and hushed, while people roam the shop, while she stirs something in a pot, while she brushes her teeth.

"Poppins," she says with a teasing smile and with knowing eyes, head tilted to the side and there are knots in your stomach.

Your breath hitch and you want to hug her and she's small and young and lovely.

"I do. I love you so much".

Jamie reaches over and takes your hands, laces your fingers together. You glance down but you don't move and her palms are rough and calloused (like hands of a warrior, not a gardener) but she is tender and she holds your hands like she's scared.

"I love you too." And there is a war won and a promise and a little tiny smile lights her face and you're smiling too.

//

The monster knows blood and knows war and knows bruises. They bloom inside of you, purple and angry across your golden skin and the pale ashen face in the mirror is a mask of pain or inner battle you somehow made yourself a part of.

You lie on your back and Jamie has her mouth on you and your hands are digging into her hair, clutching her shoulders, scratching her skin.

The monster (your monster) is not a girl and not a woman and not a mother. She's a flecks of colours and of pain, an ocean of unsolved mysteries. She comes with blood spilling from her mouth and arrows in her stomach and guilt and hate and resentment.

She's a noose around your neck and it's tightening more and more every day.

You want to hate her for a lifetime, but you don't.

You're going to die, you think. You're going to disappear and leave and cease to exist. Your hands are already sticky with the end of your life (her doing) and you will never have enough time.

You cry and Jamie cries with you but she holds you close and she caresses your head and she says, very sternly and very surely and very much like herself.

"Poppins, one day at a time".

//

You want a life with her that isn't full of war and isn't full of monsters and isn't about to end. You want the light in her eyes and you want her awful cooking and you want the cities and the adventures and the faint cigarette smelling kisses.

Your love is not stained and not faded and will not be forgotten. Your love is strong and primal and everlasting and you look at Jamie – young exquisite stubborn Jamie, and you know everything you need to know.

You are not lost. You will not be scorched to ashes. Jamie's hands will remember and as long as they do, you will keep going.

Jamie is looking at you like she might never get another chance and

(It's not true it's not true it's not true).

You feel heat rush into your cheeks as you look at her and her mouth is perfect and she takes your breath away.

"I love you, Poppins," she says. "I will wait for you".

"Not long," is what you tell her and you kiss her mouth and her cheek and her rough palm. "You will not wait long".

Her lovely smell is in your nose and it's not hard to kiss her; it's easy and soft and sad and you are so so so in love with her. When you kiss her there is no monster and no end and no lake and no death, there is no war and no blood and no anger and no fear.

You kiss her young and stupid. You kiss her slow and without any sort of urgency.

"I'm right here," she tells you and you lean in and kiss her again.

"I'm right here," she says again and you think it's something she needs to hear just as much as you do and you nod against her mouth and you bring your joined hands and you kiss her knuckles.

"I'm right here".

//

You don't remember drowning. You don't remember stepping into the water.

The beast has roared, fiercely, and angrily. She wants a child, a faint idea of a child, but her wants are hollow and sad and you are not scared of her.

(You're not. You're not).

You lie down on the hard ground, the silence of the drowned world around you. Your body is wrapped with memories and with losses and with ideas you can't quite put a finger on. The soft skin and the spreading scars and the bright beautiful (beautiful) eyes are there, but out of reach and you long for them and you are happy they aren't within reach.

You dream and you forget about flowers and about hands and about leaving.

You never forget about Jamie.

You don't remember the colour of her eyes just right because it's hard to remember the exact shade, but it's bright and deep and her image is closer because of this small forgetfulness.

You do remember the little smiles and the side-glances and how she arched her back when you press your fingers inside her. you remember her voice and her battle-ready muscles and her way of making you feel good, like building into the space of your shortcomings.

You never forget about Jamie.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> If you feel like leaving a comment telling me what you think, please do it.
> 
> Come visit me @ love-jesus-but-i-drink-a-little.tumblr.com


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